


Healthy Appetite

by vondrostes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Bottom Harry, Chubby Harry Styles, Fluff and Smut, Harry with Babies, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Temperature Play, Well Fed Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 18:59:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16918515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vondrostes/pseuds/vondrostes
Summary: “You’ve been eating more,” Louis commented as he dragged a finger down the curve of Harry’s side, carefully tracing the love handles that had finally returned now that Harry was finally on break again.Harry squinted at him suspiciously through his sunglasses. “I’m not sure if I’m meant to be flattered or insulted."





	Healthy Appetite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DuchessKitty16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuchessKitty16/gifts).



> This was a commission for one of my Patrons from my Kinktober drabbles, using the "body worship" prompt. Enjoy!
> 
> Twitter: @vondrostes & @vondrostesupd8s  
> Tumblr: @vondrostes

It had been a while since they’d last seen each other. Nearly six months.

Other people invented reasons for it all, but the truth was: they were busy. They had different lives now, and those lives were a lot less compatible than they used to be.

Often, Louis felt like they were merely two ships passing in the night—or planes rather. Jetting to LA and London on directly conflicting schedules so that even when there was time, the place was all wrong.

Sometimes Louis was the determining factor. Sometimes things just didn’t feel quite right, and he would shower Harry in excuses for why they couldn’t meet that Harry would accept unquestioningly. Louis always felt the worst after those times.

But now Harry was _here_ , and Louis was _here_ , and they were together again. It felt the same even though things couldn’t have been more different.

Louis was sat inside the back of the car meant for Harry at the private terminal, waiting for him to show up. He held his breath every time a dark shape passed by the tinted windows, only to use all his air on false alarms with nothing left for the real thing when the car door finally opened. Louis felt a bit dizzy as Harry finally slid into the backseat next to him, a dopey smile already plastered across Harry’s face.

“Hey,” Harry said, reaching over to give Louis an amicable but platonic hug. There was still the driver to consider, after all.

“Where to?” the man in question asked.

Harry rattled off an address that Louis vaguely recognised, and then they were moving, the roll of the tyres against the bumpy asphalt leading out of the terminal finally jolting Louis into reality again.

Harry was really here. With him.

Louis was still caught in a daze when the car pulled up to a little Italian eatery in Malibu, the exterior decked out in softly twinkling fairy lights. Harry directed the driver to the back entrance and then left a sizable tip in the cupholder before stepping out. Louis was right behind him, wishing he didn’t feel quite so conspicuous in a short-sleeved polo as he followed Harry up a rickety wooden staircase that zig-zagged along the back of the building.

Louis wasn’t surprised when Harry opened the door at the top of the stairs to reveal an isolated dining room, walled in on every side by ornate stained glass constructed in abstract patterns. The table was small, with a cushioned chair on either side. Harry took the one closest to the door, leaving the other for Louis to sit down.

Almost as soon as Louis’s bum hit the chair, the door opened to reveal a man who was most definitely not a waiter. Louis looked on worriedly as the bearded man walked over to Harry with a broad smile before kissing each of his cheeks in turn.

“So good to see you again,” he said in heavily-accented English. “And to meet your friend, as well.”

Louis smiled at the man in that strained way that he could never quite turn sincere. Harry sighed long-sufferingly before looking up at the bearded man, who must have been the chef, Louis realised after taking in the grease-stained apron at his waist.

“Lou?” Harry said. “You all right with pasta?”

Louis nodded, trusting Harry to choose something he would enjoy. Harry had a good memory. He tended to remember people’s likes and dislikes. That had always been a part of his love language.

“We’ll have the house special,” Harry told the bearded chef. “And a bottle of red wine.”

“Garlic bread?”

Harry looked offended the man had even asked. “Of course.”

The chef that Harry seemed unusually friendly with departed after that, leaving Harry and Louis to stare silently at each other from opposite sides of the table.

“So,” Louis finally said, breaking first.

“So,” Harry followed up.

“It’s been a while,” Louis replied hesitantly.

Harry snorted. “I thought we were past all this,” he said. “You know what I’ve been up to, so what about you?”

Louis stared at him for a few stunned seconds of silence before opening his mouth to divulge everything he had—or hadn’t—accomplished in the last six months. It was surprisingly easy once he’d started. Harry had always been a good listener even if he didn’t seem like the best conversationalist upon first meeting him.

Louis talked and talked, through the garlic bread and the wine and the pasta that both helped themselves too in copious amounts, which surprised Louis a little. Harry had eaten like a bird the last few years; Louis wondered if that had changed again or if this was just a special occasion.

Louis didn’t get his answer during dinner. After, they called another car and this time Harry had Louis give the destination. Louis gave the driver Briana’s address and hoped it wasn’t a mistake.

Harry hadn’t seen Freddie since he was very little. He was a baby still, at least in Louis’s eyes, but not much of one. He could walk and talk and do pretty much everything a toddler needed to be able to do, and while Louis hadn’t missed much of it—no matter what people thought or said—Harry had.

Harry was delighted to see Freddie, alleviating Louis’s fears about an awkward reunion. He hung back in the kitchen with Briana, drinking a beer even though they’d just split a bottle of wine over dinner, while Harry and Freddie played together in the sitting room.

“How long has it been?” Briana asked, not taking her eyes off the Lego monstrosity Harry was helping Freddie build in the middle of the floor.

“Since he’s been here?” Louis asked, confused.

She shook her head, glancing at Louis with a slight frown. “Since you’ve last seen him.”

“Oh.” Louis pretended to think about it, as if he didn’t already know the exact number of days that have passed since he was last breathing the same air as Harry. “I dunno,” he lied. “Six months or so, I guess?”

The look on Briana’s face told Louis she saw right through his bullshit. “Weren’t you just together like two months ago?” she asked, sounding almost suspicious. “Back when you were in—”

“No,” Louis said quickly. He knew already the weekend she was referring to. “It wasn’t a good time,” he fibbed, obscuring the real reason he hadn’t even asked to see Harry back then.

They were fine like this, when they could be alone together—or at least, with people in Louis’s circle, but Louis couldn’t handle the reverse. Didn’t want to. He would rather sacrifice one of the few occasions on which they could be together if it meant avoiding an awkward dinner with Harry’s compatriots, most of which he was fairly certain did not like him.

Thankfully, Briana didn’t press for a more truthful explanation, and Louis and Harry ended up leaving the house in the next hour after Freddie had been put to bed. Harry was all smiles on the drive back to his place, giddy as ever to spend a bit of time with a baby. Louis couldn’t help but wish circumstances had been different, that Harry could have what he had—that they could have it together. He’d made his peace some time ago with the knowledge that their stars had been written differently, but it didn’t keep Louis from _wanting_.

Louis half-expected to be led into the bedroom as soon as they stepped foot inside Harry’s house, but that isn’t what happened.

He found himself in Harry’s kitchen instead, leaning back with his palms braced against the island countertop while Harry dug around in his freezer, bent double with his arse sticking out as he scoured the disorganised mess of frozen food for a carton of ice cream.

“Aha!” he said finally, procuring some kind of specialty packaging before turning around to show Louis.

Louis made a face at the label. “Don’t you have any normal flavours?” he asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Chocolate and honeycomb? Really?

Harry’s pursed lips made it evident he was not impressed with Louis’s criticism, but he turned round again and pulled out another, slightly larger tub of strawberry instead.

They sat on the counter and ate in silence while Pink Floyd played softly through the surround-sound speakers installed in every corner of Harry’s house. Harry stared at Louis without blinking while Louis’s eyes roamed every square centimetre of the kitchen, looking at everything but Harry. Finally, he didn’t have a choice.

“What?” Louis asked desperately as he met Harry’s eyes.

Harry fluttered his lashes and gave his spoon a long, luxurious lick. Louis really couldn’t be blamed after that for leaving their ice cream to melt on the counter while he ate Harry out instead, his tongue still cold enough to send goose bumps shooting up Harry’s spine as he shivered and shook against Louis’s mouth.

That became a pattern somehow over the course of the weekend. Harry would order in a ridiculous amount of food or scrounge up a load of junk from his pantry or spend three hours at a time cooking a five-course meal; they would eat; and then afterward they would make each other come so hard they couldn’t even remember their own names.

Harry still went to his yoga classes nearly every day, of course, but there was none of the midnight and early morning jogging that Louis remembered, none of the endless hours on the treadmill, or the one-hundred-plus press-ups in front of the telly. Harry seemed relaxed, truly, and that in of itself was more surprising to Louis than anything else.

So they ate, and they fucked, and sometimes they did it at the same time, like when Louis walked into the kitchen to find Harry bare-arsed at the kitchen island with a bowl of watermelon on Sunday morning and couldn’t help but bend him over right then and there, with barely a pause to find a bottle of lube that Harry had had the foresight to stash under the kitchen sink.

Harry still had Louis’s come trickling down his thighs when he dashed out to the back garden afterward, claiming he wanted to sunbathe. Louis didn’t hesitate to join him, stripping down before he followed Harry outside just so they were on an even playing field.

The difference between their naked bodies was stark in the bright sunlight. Harry’s hard-won musculature had long since given way to the soft swell of fat, cushioning him in all the places Louis loved most.

“You’ve been eating more,” Louis commented as he dragged a finger down the curve of Harry’s side, carefully tracing the love handles that had finally returned now that Harry was finally on break again.

Harry squinted at him suspiciously through his sunglasses. “I’m not sure if I’m meant to be flattered or insulted,” he replied dryly, sending a hot flush of embarrassment flooding through Louis’s face.

“Flattered,” Louis replied hastily. “Definitely flattered.” He pinched some of the flesh between his fingers, causing Harry to draw in a quiet hiss, before turning his attention to the softness of Harry’s belly, probing and poking at it until Harry grunted a little in annoyance.

“Stop treating me like a science experiment,” Harry grumbled. “Give me a kiss if you’re that starved for attention.”

“I’m not,” Louis protested weakly. Harry had given him plenty of attention during their weekend together. Most of it had been spent out in Harry’s back garden by the pool just like they were doing now, so Louis could absorb as much sunlight as possible before he was due back in London.

But much like the sunlight that was in such limited supply back home, Louis wanted to get his fill of Harry now while he still could. And this Harry was a good deal more filled out than the wisp of a human Louis had last seen while Harry was still on tour, working himself to the bone on a schedule that rivalled their former glory days while trying to keep up his exercise regimen besides.

At least he was eating, Louis reminded himself, thinking back on the more gruelling parts of 2015 where Harry would go a day or two at a time on nothing but coffee and the occasional fruit.

Louis had always missed the chubby baby fat from Harry’s teenage years back then though, from when Harry’d not had the chance to feel even the slightest bit self-conscious about his appearance.

Louis drank his fill of Harry in all his bare-arsed glory, though the arse in question wasn’t on display. Harry didn’t notice, eyes closed under his sunglasses again, leaving Louis to his loving scrutiny of Harry’s body.

It really was pretty, he thought. Prettier than Harry knew. Louis wasn’t interested in girls, but he could appreciate the fact that Harry’s legs were curvy enough to belong to one, even if his giant feet sort of threw off the whole illusion.

Even when Harry was rigorous about his fitness, he’d never been able to get rid of the vaguely feminine silhouette below the belt—not that Louis thought he really wanted to—but now the rest of Harry matched: the soft tummy, the plump arse, the slight heaviness in his chest that really made Louis want to grope Harry’s tits.

Harry’s face was rounder too, making him look a little younger now than he had before, even when he forgot to shave his scraggly excuse for a beard like he had last night.

Harry had jokingly asked for a kiss; and now Louis really, really wanted to indulge him.

Louis finally obliged that request a few minutes later, pressing his lips directly below the dip of Harry’s belly button and dragging his teeth down the soft line of hair to the top of Harry’s grown-out pubes (another new and exciting development), making him shiver.

“We just fucked in the bloody kitchen,” Harry whined as Louis finally bit down gently into the softest part of his right hip.

Louis lifted his head a little and grinned up at Harry. “Oh? You too good for a blowjob now, Harold?” he teased.

Harry shook his head and sank down against the back of the pool chair with a halting sigh. “Never.”

Louis wasn’t as fond of doing the deep-throating as Harry seemed to be, but he gave it his all nonetheless, trying to show Harry without words how much he wished he could have his mouth on Harry all the time. When Harry came, Louis dutifully cleaned up Harry’s plush little belly with his tongue, leaving him slick and shiny after, and only wrinkled his nose a little bit at the taste in the process.

“Gonna miss this,” Louis mumbled into Harry’s skin as he used the butterfly tattoo as a makeshift pillow, near enough to Harry’s chest that he could feel the gentle thumping of Harry’s heartbeat under his cheek.

Harry didn’t reply, but the hand firmly curling into Louis’s hair like he didn’t ever plan to let go was answer enough.


End file.
